Saviors of the Night
by Eduard Kassel
Summary: An Elseworld AU, based off Batman: Vampire. Batman does not go over to darkness and instead must rise to face an occultic Rogue's Gallery and the increasingly paronoid people of Gotham. Eventual Watchmen & other crossovers. Better summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

Do I really need to say it? I do not own Batman; even this fanfiction was originally conceived by a friend of mine.

Saviors Of The Night: A DC Elseworld or Earth-V going by Multiverse lingo is a world based partly on the events of "Batman:Vampire" specifically Batman & Dracula:Red Rain & most of Batman: Bloodstorm though with a different ending and continuation and taking influence from White Wolf Games' World of Darkness series and Chaosium Games Call of Cthulu series as well as many other works some of them will be a surprise.

Let us see what the night brings.

The Long Night

The air is thick with blood. It is not the true scent of a battlefield where warm plasma flows from wounds and the cold presses in over the steam of killing and being killed. This blood stinks, it festers as it congeals in the veins and what pours onto the floor is as black as the brigand's soul. It is the cold blood of vampires that stains the stones.

The scene s bizarre, such a sight more fit to dream or legend than the waking world. More than a dozen of the wretched nosforeatu lie still, not dead for their lives had been lost long ago. Even this could be reconciled by the rational mind, but perpetrating the massacre of the dead are not mortals but a fierce felinthrope and a vampire who is without sin.

The massive figure is cloaked in the raiment's of a creature of the night, his fangs shining in the night and his eyes fierce red in battle lust. Despite his appearance so like some dark pagan god he retains more humanity than the one human who presides over the madness below him.

The Joker, licks a sucker and dryly observes his undead henches be torn through like a the wrapping on a child's Christmas present. As his undead lycanthrope lieutenant meets his end like an Indiana Jones movie then Joker removes the hard candy.

Selina Kyle, now the Catwoman pauses letting the battle fury drain as she clutches the heart of the creature that had once sought to hunt her. She had escaped this undead maggot, but he had managed to pass one of his curses on to her. For that alone she had vowed to end him. Her mind was clear as she crushed his rotted heart into ruin, just to be sure.

"Well, that showed a lot of heart, Creach. Idiot. Now there is only one sucker left—and bats has her cornered . . ." the Joker remarked dryly.

"Proving yet again that if you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself," the Joker concluded. As he spoke he lifted his crossbow, the oak projectile long since loaded and needing only a finger on the trigger. One can say many things about the Joker, but it could never be said he was not a fine marksman.

The pure vampire holds the undead woman as her unlife runs out over his hands, her heart pierced by his stake.

"To death, in peace," he speaks the words softly but strong. The words were not his, they belonged to Tanya who had walked the long night before him, and like her he knew he killed nothing, for his prey was already dead.

The oak bolt strikes true, impaling his heart. There is no sudden blackness, no light at the end of the tunnel, only loss as the towering figure falls.

Whether it is the laughing clown or instinct that draws the Catwoman out of her bloody reverie is unimportant. Her mind snapped back to the battle like a blooded hound finally let off the leash. Her long nights companion lay prone over the body of his last kill, and above her mates slayer hooted in victory. The red rage was full of the malice that only the boiling blood of the living can claim.

The Joker is truly insincere in his celebration. He had in truth never expected to win and survive. After all he was caught up in an epic story and there was absolutely no doubt he was the perfect villain for the hero. And in the best stories the hero triumphs tragically over the villain. For evil to make a clean sweep, it was like one of those pointless mean tricks children play on each other. Or long of those philosophical bores trying to show the audience how grim and hopeless life was, as if anyone needed tobe told that!

Thus when his instincts scream danger he is thrilled, thinking a more fitting finale is in order. He hears the cat before he sees her and dashes back into the rain. Red rain, a joke in poor taste to his twisted mind. The novelty of the east coasts environmental disaster was an irritant to him. A bloody rain was all well and good, he had once made a joke of it that it was nature bleeding from man raping their mother earth. Not really funny though, some damn ecobitch had beaten him to the line! Besides even the best jokes go stale with repetition, purple rain would be better now.

He dashes into the church, unsure if the cross thing worked on cat people. The crash of the doors behind him answered that question. Classical tactics called for the high ground so he beat a hasty retreat to the stairs, he had left the door open, lucky him.

Ah, it opened off at a lovely balcony lined with gargoyles and saints. The perfect setting for an epic conclusion. Rather than pause he spun around skidding over the wet stone. Right on cue the frisky feline emerged running on all fours and leaping like some movie tiger. The bolt flew beautifully and bit into sweet furry flesh.

The wood sank into her left arm, her chest protected. The pain was ignored the weight shifted o her right arm as she sprang one final time coming upon her prey. She scratched and at his purple cloak and ghastly flesh. He smelled worse than the vampires. Theirs was the stench of something long rotten, save for Bruce, but this was something had never been good, less than shit.

Rage did not a good fighter make, she hurt him but he was not near dead yet. Stronger than he seemed he actually forced her back a bit with a fist her chest. The opening was small but he used it brining his fists together and hammering down on her head. That gave him the next one too, a solid kick landing in her side knocking her over and pining her against the railing.

He is talking, complaining, she cannot hear him, the beast is ruling unchallenged. With the cunning of the cat she lays beaten, saving her strength for an end. He is cocky he kicks for her stomach again, not a real calculated attack, a tyrant hitting his long broken subject.

The move is flawless she seizes the leg in the vice grip of her good hand and rising grabs a hold of his coat. One motion sends him over the side falling with the tainted rain.

She clues there in the rain panting letting the pain finally creep in. At last to satisfy her returning intellect she raises herself to look over the railing, the sewers have been opened below, rather than seeing the Jokers pale corpse smashed below she gazes into a black abyss.

"All the quicker for him to get to Hell," she decides. Selina now back in control retraces her steps, pain and fatigue of the spirit robbing her of grace. The crosses that fill the sanctuary are beautiful she realizes. She had never been terribly religious, but she knew now that this symbol truly could protect the innocent from darkness. The thought was a small comfort, but still a spark in the darkness.

Somehow she traversed the way back to her mate's side. Selina did not recall anything after the crosses. As she rolls him over to face her, the horrid wood jutting from him, she recalls that the cross symbolizes resurrection. The concept was a foul one to her, when the dead rose it was to bring misery.

She pulls back the cowl to see his face, and finds it beautiful. Not the least bit effeminate, strong, noble, and what lines it held spoke of long nights in his mortal years where a troubled lord looked out over his city.

She could not stand to see the wood continue to violate her long nights companion. At some point she had freed her own arm of the wound, now she wrapped her good hand around the blood stained wood and with a sucking jerk pulled it free. She let herself weep the fact coming home, he was gone.

"T-to death in-" she began as he had taught her.

"_Selina_?" it was only a whisper of a single word. Yet it was salvation, the long night need not end yet.

_Hope you like it Drrockso20. Snake Featherston also deserves credit in later additions for his contributions._

Please Review.


	2. Chapter 2

I own nothing, possibly not even the AU stuff created by mself and my colleagues.

IMPORTANT NOTE: For those unfamiliar with the source material, the Vampires of this Universe are not parallel to the classic vampire. Most natbly a stake through the heart does not kill. A staked vampire is paralyzed but still possessing it's unlife. While in this state Vampires remain aware and their bodies decompose as a corpse might, but they are returned to their unlife upon the stake being removed. Decapiation kills them along with immolation, flowing water, and sanctification. It is noteworthy though that a pure Vampire(one who has not partaken of human blood) needs not fear the sacred or the sun.

**What a World What a World**

From the Book Of Destiny Of The Endless:

_"and thus the War Of Sorrows ended in victory for the ancient Fae Lords as they had succeded in sending the King of Tears back to the Un-Reality from which He had come and sealed His heir Ysmault inside a dead shell of a world but they hadn't properly accounted for the manipulations of Ysmault's first offspring Qull of The Five Inversions, Regent of the Empire Of Tears for though he had been sealed like the others he had laid the seeds of doubt...." (1)_

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The Laughing Raven

She stirred and woke in her nest, nothing in particular rousing her from dreams of smoke and shadow. Having slept fitfully, she decided it was a good time to be about her business. With a word and gesture she cleared away the broken furniture above, letting her lift up the floorboards that concealed her nest. Aforesaid nest was a rounded hole in the floor emptying into a crawl space she had filled with discarded clothes, blankets and other soft materials scavenged from street and dumpster.

Hauling herself out of the warm fabric onto the cool wood floor she stretched and replaced boards, with the debris back in place even a discerning eye would not easily detect her resting place. A brief inspection of the floor allowed her to locate the loose board that concealed her clothes and other supplies. Discarding the oversized shirt that served as her sleeping garment she pulled on her uniform and midnight black cloak.

Personal hygiene was the next concern. Which to her amounted to firstly brushing her teeth with the aid of some bottled water and a toothbrush picked up in Fawcett City. Next she combed what tangles had formed in her loose purple hair, and finally with a wet rag scrubbed down her gray skin with the smallest amount of magic.

Finally her rituals lead to breakfast, emptying some powdered milk into a glass she filled the container with some red rain water she had collected. Pink beverage in hand she went to be one of her windows to look out on the city.

It was so different to the sprawling metropolises she had previously helped protect. The Narrows were true to their name, too much packed into to little space. From her room in the abandoned tenement she watched how the sun dyed the sky crimson and cast half the city in blood red. The other half caught in the shadows had already descended into a near night with some people already flicking their lights on.

Steam and smoke rose into the air, and the sharp wind that tore through the canyons carried the scents of human civilization, piss, blood, excrement, rotted food, and the faint hint of reproductive fluids. She drank in the beauty of the city she had found and sipped away at the mildly poisonous beverage she had prepared.

When the sun had given up the ghost and she had rinsed her cup and replaced it beneath the floor she decided it was time for some fun. The door to her room had long since been knocked off its hinges, but she had laid runes beneath the graffiti that dotted the building which insured no one would even think about entering. Humming tunelessly she made her way up to the roof and took in the night of the Narrows and the wider city of Gotham resting on its isles. The night was starless, the city could not banish the darkness which lay in wait around each corner but it had managed to chase away those little bits of light, leaving the moon dull and lonely in the sky. Like any human city it was light up, in homage to a fear of darkness mankind strived to drive it back by singing its edges with fire, but all they did was create a world of harsh light and deeper shadows, neither welcoming.

She did not have to speak to rise into the air and take flight, the only sound her cloak ruffling in the wind. She did not bother to pull up her hood letting the wind pull through her hair and the shadows play across a grinning face. Her passage was swift, one shadow darting among many. She thrilled to sharp turns and acrobatics as she made her way through the senseless network that divided up her island. Spotting a clothesline coming up she bared her teeth and reached with one hand to grab it as she passed. Stopping her forward motion she was carried around by her grip three times in a loop on the line, until she settled hanging over the streets.

Her old allies would have been utterly shocked by what she did next, she laughed. Not the grim or sarcastic sound she had used rarely in their presence, but a rich sound of sincere merriment. As it was a boy heard and looked his window, to see something large and dark dangling from a line amidst drying clothes (her cloak made her appear far larger than her petit form).

Noticing this she gave him a wave before swinging up and out of sight.

Realizing she had drawn near a most potent source of nourishment she halted in her course and rose to alight on a slanted rooftop. Arkham Asylum, she could feel the pitch miasma that enshrouded the ancient structure. She had learned the building was less than a century and a half old and had served as an asylum for a little over eighty years. However, in this city where so much changed with the seasons the structure was ancient by comparison. Erected by a man seeking to contain demons and exorcise them from his patients, what was meant to be a beacon of reason had become an outcropping of hell? She could not tell if the darkness of the Narrows pooled and congealed here or flowed outward sickening the island, but she liked it.

Her allies could never understand her; it was no vice on their part simply a matter of essential differences. She was born to a world of silence were the suffering and despair of countless beings permeated everything. Having been cast into this world of light and happiness she had been left in misery by such unfamiliarity. She did not truly enjoy people suffering, like a predator she did not eat meat for love of killing, but because it was how she lived. This was their home not her's and she did not wish harm to the people who inhabited it.

To that end she had allied herself to the individuals who sought to ease the suffering of humanity and punish those who inflicted the suffering. They had proven themselves comrades worthy of trust and some degree of friendship, but her nature by necessity excluded her from their flock. She was not certain the mystics of this realm knew of the Forlorn Flock, but the risk was enough to necessitate concealing her nature. If they learned the truth of her they would be obliged to destroy her, she did not begrudge them the sentiment. She had traded her Forlorn name for the title Raven to further safeguard against the discovery, the lovely birds called to her mind infants and comforted her with the familiar shape.

All this was to spite the malevolent creature that had flung Raven from her Flock to this strange world, even though the triumph of darkness would have made her life easier. The malice of battles and the camaraderie she had found had made her stay here bearable, but far from comfortable.

Having felt this city during her wanderings she could no more remain among the heroes than a moth could hold back from the flame. The red rain started to fall as Raven was lost in her thoughts. Here she could serve her true nature and live as her kind were meant too, the rain dripped onto the roof from her still form, clean and clear.

She heard a shout and looked down to see a woman being assailed. She grinned pulling her hood over her soaked hair and opening all her eyes. Most simply fled at the sight of her darkened form and twin sets of glowing eyes, while others were more fun and drew it out. Either way she enjoyed her work.

As the scene unfolded the girl who was even more than she seemed was herself watched. As she finished the watcher was satisfied for now and departed on dark wings, Raven none the wiser.

* * *

Contemplations of a Tarnished Angel

The night, once I walked it by choice, a self imposed exile to the dark reaches where monsters dwell and brave men fear to venture. Now I am a creature of the night, and can safely be counted along the ranks of the monsters. Though I strive to walk the path of virtue and the sun does not consume my form, a virtuous beast is still a beast and the sun no longer welcomes me as one of his children.

Though I have lost my humanity Selina has let me hold onto my soul. Yet is it enough?

Tonight I prowl alone, Selina patrols another segment of the city though as a team we are unstoppable it is sometimes more prudent to cover more ground even at the cost of strength. Still these times of solitude, away from Alfred and my love, summon dark thoughts from the depths of my being.

I donned my mask for many reasons. As a child bat's terrified me, as part of my training I had been forced to face my fear and not only overcome it but break it to my will. So it came to pass when I had to become more than a man I took on the form of that which to me embodied terror. Was it merely coincidence that I adopt the trappings of the very beast I would become?

I do not believe in destiny, fatalism is a refuge for the arrogant and the cowardly. The future is the sum of what we make of the present. Yet, what are the chances that the one to finally end the reign of Dracula would be a man who was his complete opposite. Dracula had been a monster masquerading as a man while I was a man pretending to be a monster.

_Was_ being the key word, now I am exactly what I appear to be.

As a mere mortal challenging the evils of the world I had hoped to show the people that the wickedness of the world was not invincible. I sought to empower them, to inspire others to stand up to those who fill this world with misery and terror. But I have failed them, now I am a monster that defeats other monsters, for the tale to end happily the monsters must fall by the hand of a mortal man. A different darkness does not lift darkness, only light can do that.

"Is it you?" I ask. The billboard shows the face of Harvey Dent in profile, his face handsome, but full of strength, and next to it his campaign slogan, "TAKE BACK OUR CITY."

In the old days I worked with Dent, he was the Assistant DA and the highest member of the city government who was not part of the disease killing the city. In a cruel irony the final blow against the disease of the mafia was that they were swallowed by an even deadlier predator. The thought gives me no satidafaction, the ends do not justify the means when the road taken was soaked in blood. Another way is needed to save this city from decay and ruin, and Harvey Dent just might be trhe answer.

Dent was born in Gotham's shrinking middle class and was smart enough to receive a quality education and earn a much envied position at Gotham University as a Professor of Law. He was young, had a secure job, and that could have been the beginning of a safe and profitable adult life. Then he fell in love.

Dent was and is not a romantic but meeting Gilda set his life on a radically different course. Having married the woman he loved the next step would have been either deciding to do the economic thing and not have children, or start a family.

Gilda wanted a family, but Harvey looked at the world them. Things were bad in the days when the two of us were young and had only gotten worse as time passed. If he was going to bring children into the world, they would inherit a better world than this. He resigned from the university and began his crusade to save Gotham City.

In my vanity I thought I was a savior returning to deliver my homeland from darkness, but Dent never left. I hid behind a mask and struck from the shadows, meanwhile Harvey was known to his enemies and every day walked into the viper's nest naked. Avenging angels might smite the wicked, but can they save a city fro itself.

Dent is running for mayor, the current administration is a successor to the last elected mayor after he covered up the mass serial killings.

This along with the scandals that have been steadily unearthed since I aligned myself with Dent years ago has created a movement in the masses. The people, the blue collars, shopkeepers, and the poor in their tenements, have lost ay patience with the status quo.

They demand change, and will not wait for some commission or initiative, or any of the other placebos they have been given in the past. With both parties discredited by years of scandal and the mafia all but wiped out, change may be exactly what they get. The powerbrokers are either dead or ostracized and a power vacuum has opened in the heart of Gotham.

Enter Harvey Dent, the Apollo of Gotham who strived to cast light in the darkest years and who has done more than anyone else to earn the trust of the common people of Gotham. He has thrown his hat into the race as an independent, his platform: retake Gotham City for the Gothamites away from organized crime, special interests, and masked criminals, and do it by whatever means necessary.

The money and left are trying to paint Dent as a Fascist but right now the people don't care. They are no longer listening and if Dent somehow does not win they may well storm city hall and carry him in.

A part of me says this is dangerous, that no man should have the kind of power Dent is developing, my methods were not meant to become the law of the land. But who am I judge hi or them? I abandoned the city and never was honest with them as Dent was. The truth is that my greatest triumph will be the day they no longer need me, and their Apollo may be the one to make that world.

I believe in Harvey Dent.

Enough time wasted n reflection, I have an appointment. I sped my wings and once again take to night air. My thoughts do not still but they do turn to another topic.

That girl, in the Narrows, another vigilante prowling my city after dark. I remember Gordon once remarking how it was only after I came to Gotham that the masked criminals seemed to come out of the woodwork. They did not all come from the outside drawn to me. Most got their start right here, as if my presence makes the atmosphere conducive to their kind. Do I truly create a climate where madness and horror bloom in bright primaries and cackling lunatics? Does my new status as a vampire now draw the occult into the mix?

The girl seems harmless; despite her troubling powers she has yet to seriously hurt anyone. She does not even seem depressed or angry, almost jovial in her patrols and wanderings. That is strange, have I come to believe that only someone as troubled as me can do what I do? Did I chose to be what I am or was it decided for me?

No, that way lays madness. I am what I am, and I do what I do, these facts are all the reason I need.

As always Ariane is reading some massive tome and sipping the coffee that propels her late night work. Aged and overweight se nonetheless is greater than me for whatever the state of her life; it remains a true life full of potential I never considered before joining the ranks of the undead.

"I figured you were do. What is it this time? Or perhaps you simply wished to visit?" she acknowledges me. She sets her book aside and turns to examine me with bespectacled eyes.

"What can you tell me about magic? What do you know that lays beneath all the garbage that the media has heaped on that old superstition?" I ask.

"Well that's a rather broad topic. Were to begin? Do you read fantasy?" she asked.

"No."

"Good, first thing is that magic is not overly pleasant. These days magic is considered all wonderful and science as bad and heartless. Magic is essentially the art of making stuff happen that should not happen."

"For example despite the talks these days of white magic and black magic, traditionally magic was rather like science. Rather a force to be harnessed and used for various ends."

"Traditionally humans are not considered magical. Christians and the other Abrahamian cultures usually ascribed magic users to having gained their powers through contracts with the fey. For instance the wizard Sundiata fought, Sumanguru, in Muslim tradition received his power from mountain spirits and as a result he paid the price of becoming as one with the mountain stone. So the popular belief is that while humans can use magic, it is inherently drawn from other sources," she explained

"If humans do not possess magic, then who does?" I pressed.

"The Fey, if you believe this sort of thing," she answers with a small grin.

"You seem to be feeding me fair tales," I retort.

"In a way I am. More accurately the grittier older brothers of what the media dishes out these days. The term fairy is derived from the term Fair Folk, which in turn references the Fey. The Fey allegedly lived roughly alongside humans, in the forests, atop the mountains, in caves, under streams. Basically anywhere people weren't the Fey were seen as filling in."

"The easiest accurate reference is Shakespeare's a "Midsummer Night's Dream." The Fey are accurately depicted as neither malevolent nor benign, rather they would go about their business with humans being dragged in for either their amusement or by accident," she told me, withdrawing a copy of Shaespare's work from her sagging shelves.

"What were they supposed to be like? You say they were called fair?"

"Well if you take the legends as a whole two categories show up. Fey are large, like ogres and the like, and small like leprechauns and pixie's. Also the dynamic of the Fey as possessing otherworldly beauty or being hideous, say elves and orcs. Some patterns are fairly consistent while certain regions have unique properties."

"So what would a Fey that helped others be?"

"Well firstly I would doubt it was a fey. Traditionally they regarded humans as toys for amusement or possessions to be protected, if not vermin to be ignored or killed. So my first guess would be a human that had bargained for power."

"Would you make such a bargain?"

"No. Magic when you get to the bare bones was all about exchanges, sacrifice for gain. Like the djinn, granted ultimate power but forever imprisoned and only freed to grant the wishes of someone else. Don't let Aladdin fool you, the djinn are written of a as hateful creatures who always twisted their master's wishes to bring suffering and woe. With magic there is no getting ahead, at best you would break even."

"Vampires are a disease as are werewolves. But how does one account for magic?"

"Hmm, if we are assuming it existed I would say telekinesis. Instead of bending spoons you bend the laws of causality, possibly applying some kind of energy . For instance the chances of me turning into a fog are practically zero, but with magic you twist it so the chances are one hundred percent."

"Reality is solid one cannot bend it like a branch."

"I agree, but if we assume magic exists perhaps it follows a completely different set of rules. Magic is regarded as wild and chaotic, with many a human or fey destroyed by forces they set in motion but cannot control. Perhaps the defining quality of magic is that with it, two plus three sometimes equals fives, but other times it equals eight," Ariane proposed.

"Nonsense. Everything abides by the rules of nature, it is simply a matter of ignorance on our part to the entire shape the design," I answer. This conversation is proving fruitless.

"You seem agitated. I am certain you met a werewolf, and came to me for answers. Did you run across a witch and feel your faith in a single logical truth challenged?" she presses.

I bid her good night and depart. My doubts and self reflection have wasted the evening. My duties do not allow for such oversight. If I wish to resolve the situation in the Narrows I will have to confront the girl for answers, and be prepared to receive them.

* * *

The Goblin King & The Watchman

They call me a monster; I prefer to think of myself as a seeker of truth. Perhaps to those who fear answers, who are afraid that the truth will present them with some dire ultimatum, a seeker such as I is a monster.

To clear matters up I shall give you the abridged version of my story, make yourselves comfortable. I was born into one of most prominent families in New England and to a lesser extent America. From before the turn of the century to present, my family has been a major force in the political and business life of this country and all of its subsidiaries. Since I am connected via my mother my own name is rather undistinguished.  
Decades ago my father was one of those young Turks who just might have the talent charm and wherewithal to make a splash despite being an outsider. Nor was he one of those annoying reformers who try to crash the elite's party from time to time, my father wanted membership into the club. My grandfather granted him admission in the form of a spare daughter of no particular talent, the old man's hope being to hitch the family to my father's bandwagon.

To be fair it was not a bad investment, but rather than profiting it was more like breaking even. Due to various circumstances my father never went father than the place my grandfather found him. So the family looked to the next generation for the first member to be president of these United States. Two of the of my siblings were girls so they were quickly given a price tag and set aside for future use, at least one of them deserved the treatment. Brother #1 was handsome charming and lacking the intelligence god gave to those squirrels that kill themselves chewing on the electric lines. Brother #2 was not so much in the looks department and possessed certain "unsavory" preferences; however he was as sharp as a razor fresh from the grindstone. Sadly both of them now hold prominent positions in the United States government.

As for me? I make no claims to genius but I have always possessed a great deal of skill in observation. It has served far better than any of the talents my siblings inherited or my father was refuted to possess. Quickly I caught on to the game of social interaction, first in my home and then in a series of private schools. This system is no mystery, empty vanity, pettiness, ignorance, and flash over substance etc. What I realized was that the game never stops, the adults played even though few let themselves realize it. My father was nothing but a flunky to grandfather who remained king till he died and then his number twos squabbled over it. My mother was and is a parasite, lacking any talent or motivation of her own she simply survived off her father, then her husband and lovers, and now off of her preferred son.

The game is a pointless exercise, the only goal being to reach the top of the pyramid and stay there until death knocks you off anyway. Religion, ethics, morality, all empty attempts to cover up the empty vanity that is human society, which having escaped nature has turned to self destruction in order to assuage boredom.

I opted not to play and as a result became despised by all. Those who live in lies fear the truth that will make them homeless. I did not value their opinions enough to care about their displeasure; I came to devote my energies to the study. My goal being to disprove any idea of moral instinct or inherent goodness, to strip down such things as love to the selfish survival mechanisms they are and expose the naked truth to all.

At university I received a somewhat more receptive audience. But these depressed fools wish only to use the state of reality to justify their petulant wailings and the embrace of their apparent disorders and petty grudges. Even the bitter gray professors who concurred with my theories came to disgust me. These wretches knew but they did not understand. If they did my methods would not have given pause.

Faced with the thunderous deafness of humanity I earned the write to sign my name with a Dr. rather than a Mr., and despaired of ever being able to convey my truth. I held the answer within myself; it finally burst forth in the most vivid dream of my life. My subconscious placed me alone in my mother's old room, and I found myself facing the mirror where the bird had preened her feathers in a vain attempt to dazzle cocks that only had eyes for younger poultry.

I noted with interest that I was holding a knife, only to realize I was not, my reflection was. Of its own, accord my reflection lifted his free hand in greeting and I was terrified that I might be greeted by myself.' He stepped forward and I could feel his cold breath on my face and vainly trying to retake control I looked myself in the eye. Only to see there were no eyes, instead in the pits of my face rested two tiny mouths stuffed with vicious little teeth greedily clicking together.

When I woke despite all my logic I was compelled to look in mirror to confirm the existence of my eyes. That was the truth, we do not observe the world through eyes of lovely covers, and we eat the world with our eyes. Every action catering to an insatiable gluttony be it sex, violence, or even the illusion that is love which serves or vanity.  
Words were wind I needed to show the world the black truth of itself. When the evidence was laid out before them stripped f all the disguises heaped upon it by millennia of vain conspiracy, then all would see what I see.

Children are the embodiment of the empty hope we have in a future better than the present so naturally children were the key to my project.

But I get ahead of myself, first I had to acquire the right property. Technically it was not for sale; more the knowledge of it was for sale. A lovely place far below the streets, all those tunnels none maintains them anymore but in those old days people tried to leave their mark with enduring works. Next, on a cash only policy, I set up a snug corner of the under city for my subjects, not four star but I am proud to say I made it homey without being comfortable. I had to mover everything myself at this stage so it would tae longer tan with later nests, money only buys silence until bigger money or terror comes along. Once the gates were firmly in place I went hunting, already having long since marked my game.

I confess no matter how many times I snare one the rush is always satisfying. I am on a guest to expose the truth, and with the work I have done with these lovely children, I am getting oh so close.

It is much easier to recruit children than you think. My first ones where street children, runaways and abandoned ones mostly. Many of these were broken, with the abandoned having glimpsed the cold truth of the world many folded like a cheap card table, and runaways you had the group that wanted to go back but were too scared too face the music. These pathetic things could never serve, it those that frail but stiff and bitter strength I sought.

Adults are actually more prone to resignation than children; it's obvious if you really look. Setbacks that would break adults, children simply refuse to accept and give up. With this particular breed when raped by the world they haul themselves up and start walking if for no better reason than to not die in the place the world left them.

Still though, like all humans they were not nomads. They desperately wanted dome heading beyond daily grinds and surviving society and adults that had lost all trust.

Enter me. Loners I approach as individuals, packs I approach the group. The packs are easier; it's just a matter of usurping the alpha. Before I even speak I familiarize myself with them and they get used to seeing me. They ultimately realize I am different, I am neither predatorial nor an irritating Samaritan feeding them false hope.

My methods differ but in the end they come to trust me as humans must trust in something, and I lead them below where they are given a course in life. I provide them with the requirements and none of the luxuries, and the truth asserts itself with the proper prodding. The church crowd on Sunday talks of a Church School fundraiser to raise the innocents in the way of light. Beneath river of siht and tracks going nowhere I sit and watch two boys kick each others' ass for the right to mount the prettiest girl in the nest, and she sits watching proud of what she has wrought and eagerly anticipating the winners attention.

We teach them not to be wicked, we teach them to go against their nature and call it innocence. I teach them to be as bad as they want and offer no reward than the joy of the sin. Take away the prize and punishment system and you get my wicked little Goblins.

Despite what the papers say I do not abuse them. True abuse is the parent that spanked the son for teasing the sister, if the sister wants vengeance she should take it and if she can't she deserves to be mocked. They do not want to hear it, but it is truth. I am merely their guide; they are not compelled to follow my lessons.

They can't go out on their own or until the lessons are over, but still they are not compelled to listen. The juice I picked up in college from one of the bleached morons with delusions of witchcraft. It acts as an energy and anti-sleep agent, it does something else too, but he slit his throat before finishing explaining it. Anyway they don't start drinking it until their first anniversary in the nest so it does not make me a drug lord. All the juice does is even the playing field when I send my goblins out to play.  
At first I gave them toys but they learned to dig up their own and taught the newbie's. Asking me for help has actually become a bit of a taboo in their ranks.

For the record the papers named them Goblins, not me. The gangs and homeless that they love to play with named them in an attempt to assuage their fear of dawn finding them cut and drained. The papers eventually picked it up and sadly one of my Goblins got himself caught. Fortunately he told little before the withdrawal hit. None of then know my name, they call me the Doctor. I am the Doctor a knowledgeable man out to spread y knowledge, yet the papers branded me with a juvenile and utterly inappropriate moniker.

They dare to call me the Goblin King!

New York City, you have yet to fully grasp the lesson and to understand me. Yet I must be off. That terrible man in the mask, his face holds every meaning and none at all. He should not be persecuting me, not killing off my goblins or turning them over to police. From those who he let go I see he knows the truth, yet he still acts like there is a difference between black and white.

Rorschach means to kill me for some reason. I shall not be here to die. With little Alicia, my unborn son, and a number of Goblins I will start a new nest system. Ulysses' and his four will head up to Boston with seed money to start anew there. He will not let me down and his companions are too fierce to fail. As for me Gotham seems the best choice, I cannot say why but it beckons.

Rorschach claims New York, fine he can have it, and all the Goblins I am leaving behind. He will take enough of a victory from driving me out and return to guarding is city.

_**Rorschach's Journal, Sunday 15th**_  
_**  
**__Rain today, not the red kind this time.  
_  
_Last nest cleared. Other Masks are taking the Goblins, hope to rehabilitate. Laughable, many killed their own parents, waste of time to try and fix what is broken beyond repair. The Goblin King seems to have turned from recruiting the homeless and orphans, too driving children to matricide and patricide. According to my prisoner one girl, fourteen roughly, actually became his lover after he talked her into killing both her parents. Apparently not difficult, even other Goblins are scared of her, going far as to call her their queen. _

_This cannot be tolerated, it is frustrating that my peers continue to insist on treating cancer with cold pills. It is up to me to remove the tumor that the disease springs from._

_The Goblin King has left the city, will pursue investigation regardless. According to interrogation of my prisoner two groups legt before the raid, assume the goal being to establish new nests in other cities. The targets are Boston and Gotham, that was the extent of his knowledge. _

_Gotham is closer will start there._

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From the Book Of Destiny Of The Endless:

_"After an age of prosperity the Fey Lords ran into an age of untrust which ended in several of the Fey Lords left the Earth and went to create their own worlds including Rao The Sun Lord and his wife Tamar The Star Lady and Azar The Lady Of The Moon and Oa The Guardian Of The White Lantern and Katar-Than The Winged Hunter and Anodyte The Mana Wielder and Skru-Durla The Shifter and Colu The Thinker and many others. They had no idea how important Their descendants would be to Their Homeworld..._

(1) The Book of Destiny pieces our written by Drrockso20.

This is very AU, so do** not** expect it to follow any kind of canon other than the one being established by Drrockso20, Snake Featherston, and myself.

Please Review


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